


Starry Eyed

by baratheons



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Drama, Friendship, High School, Multi, Romance, Secret Relationship, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teenage Rebellion, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baratheons/pseuds/baratheons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had always expected growing up to be sophisticated, more prognostic than the mercurial childhood she had led. What Myrcella Baratheon never anticipated however, was Robb Stark and his scrupulous way of teaching his history class without a textbook. </p><p>A 'Song of Ice and Fire' Modern AU Bildungsroman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. King and Lionheart

**Author's Note:**

> This AU appropriates more the individual characters and their relationships of George R. R. Martin's epic saga 'A Song of Ice And Fire' rather than plot. This is more an experimental piece for my own amusement so canon parallels may not align exactly to the original throughout this fic (so don't curse me for any inaccuracies please!)

It was rich to say that being the mayor’s daughter had its complications. In fact, it was downright expensive. The town of Kings Landing was by far, outstanding in civics. A blossoming population and home for the finest families in all of Westeros, Kings Landing was both prosperous and opulent. Granted, the city hardly possessed a temperamental reputation however. Crime, scandal and discrimination were all in turn, prominent feature in all corners of the city. Even in Red Keep which was considered to be the heightened part of town had a record for distress. But in comparison to the various other towns dotted in and out of Westeros, Kings Landing was a pretty damn good place to live. And perhaps it was thanks to the mayor, Robert Baratheon. After winning the election and towns vote from the insane Aerys Targaryen (who spent far too much of the Government’s money on fireworks rather than federal establishments), Kings Landing had thrived into a burgeoning metropolis. Robert Baratheon was a man of excellent humour and distasteful temper. He was also Myrcella’s father.

She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and with silk socks climbing up pasty legs. The middle daughter to Mayor Baratheon and his socialite of a wife, Cersei Baratheon nee’ Lannister, Myrcella was a consistent entitlement of both her parents. At a freshly turned fifteen, she was both gracious as she was nimble. While the texture of her hair mirrored the wiry curls of her father, they were beaten golden like her mother and waxed with burnt sugar. Myrcella hardly considered herself a beauty, especially when standing five foot four next to her enticing mother. Cersei Lannister appeared almost thirteen years younger than her real age with a cascade of sunshine instead of hair. There was coldness evident in her expression though and while Myrcella’s celery-coloured eyes remained jovial, her mothers were cool jaded chips. It was the stark contrast from mother to daughter, amongst with a multitude of others.

For some peculiar reason, neither her nor her brothers had inherited her father’s coal-black curls. It was a progressive feature in the Baratheon family for even her younger cousin, Shireen sported dark tresses the shade of umber. In fact, all three of Cersei and Robert’s offspring screamed nothing but Lannister. Pallid, blonde and flaxen with eyes the exact hue of forests, vegetables, springs and emeralds- if all the same age, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen could even be considered triplets. But their personalities varied drastically. For one, while Joff was sardonic and conceited, both confident and uncouth to an incredible fault, Myrcella was both retiring and introverted. When standing next to Tommen who was diplomatic beyond his years, Myrcella’s unassuming nature contrasted greatly to both her older and younger brother. Joff was vindictive and Tommen was judicious but to pinpoint Myrcella’s ambivalent nature was beyond easy. In fact, it was almost impossible.

Their house was well structured, a dashing brick red house on Red Keep Avenue. A trim navy roof and linear white picket fence, the five bed-room home seemed to always entice commotion every morning. It was the start of Myrcella’s sophomore year at Westerosi High, one of the very few schools in the kingdom. Braavosi Institute and Qarth Academy were rival schools as was Citadel College for the Exceptional. It would be Tommen’s first year at Westerosi High while Joff would be entering his senior year. It was definitely exciting, to think that Joffrey would graduate so soon. Perhaps he would bring her to his college campus like Arya’s brothers did. Her last text to her friend had indicated that her step-brother, Jon, was now currently at Castle Black University. That was close to Thenn Seminary of Arts and Humanities which was where Tommen wanted to attend when he graduated.

Everyone knew what Joffrey wanted to do (not including Arya’s sister, Sansa.) Baratheon Inc. manufactured most of the steel and concrete throughout Kings Landing and the rest of Westeros and remained the leading corporation. Of course, Lannister and Sons were never far behind but along with Stark Organization, such industries remained faithful partners to Baratheon Inc. In truth, Myrcella had little patience for business and often found herself tuning out whenever Joff and dad would discuss work. It was odd for Tommen at only fourteen, held a far greater interest in politics, business and management as opposed to football star Joffrey. But Joffrey was the eldest and there was nothing more to say about the matter.

Myrcella stared at herself in the mirror, smoothing the light fabric of her sweater. The first day of the new school year and she was already paranoid. But about what? Myrcella hardly knew. She enjoyed academics but her time management skills were horrendous and she had found herself lacking incredibly in any reasonable marks during her freshman year. It would be appropriate of course, if she was a football prodigy like Joff or took clarinet lessons every second day like Tommen did (along with Violin and Piano every alternate) but Myrcella’s mind consisted of hardly any talents or hobbies and her time was scarcely wasted on co-curricular activities. So the fact that she had barely managed to scrape a C irked her parents, her mother especially.

Turning around slowly, her celery eyes traveled down her front as she continued to ruminate over her appearance in the mirror. She was slender for her age but to a defying fault for her breasts were lithe and her hips jutting more bone then flesh. She was hardly considered tall despite her parents and instead, stood at an awkward height which hardly fitted her spindly limbs. And the more Myrcella gazed at her reflection, the more she wanted to either curse her genes or the Gods. It was her first day of school and already she looked out of place. The denim shorts that she wore hung loosely around her thighs, hardly fitting her straight frame and barely aiding any curves into her figure at all. The sweater was a loose mesh of white that baggily covered a deep green tank. Her mother had taken her shopping earlier on to buy some dresses for the coming term but the purchases remained hanging in her closet, price tag attached and all. She had always been picky with clothes but in a way that was most peculiar for a female adolescent like her. Dresses were odd and skirts were uncomfortable and well, Cella hardly saw the point in fashion anyway. Arya definitely didn’t.

A knock on her door lifted the blonde from her thoughts and she turned her attention towards the intruder. It was her older brother Joffrey, standing six foot with a new tan and a freshly shaven jaw. “Still dressing like a dyke, are we?” He sneered. Myrcella shot him an irritated look.

“What do you want? I’ll be down in a minute.” Reaching for a lipbalm and several pens, Myrcella stuffed them into her tote bag and turned her attention back to getting ready.

Joff continued to lean at the doorway, leering at his younger sister. While he was on the verge of turning eighteen, he was hardly mature. “Well hurry up, we’re all waiting for you.” “I’m coming just wait a minute.” She persisted softly, shrugging on some socks and slipping on a pair of navy canvas flats over her feet. Making her way to her bedroom door, Myrcella awkwardly attempted to slide past her older brother but his muscular frame blocked her in her step which rose a finger of doubt in Myrcella.

“This is my last year and you are not going to fuck this up for me, do you understand?” Joffrey hissed, taking a hold of her arms and shoving her up against the doorframe forcefully. Perhaps it was a little sad but Myrcella was beyond used to her brother’s viciousness and his acrid japes. She understood that he found power in treating others in such a vulgar way for he had done so with her ever since they were children.

He shook her, hard. “Do you understand?”

Managing a nod, Myrcella attempted to pry his grip off. He seemed to gain control of himself at that moment for he let her go, smirking at his sister before loping down the carpeted stairs. It was only until he was out of sight did Myrcella remember to breathe.

Breakfast was a simple matter- a bowl of cheerios and a dash of soy milk washed down with a stick of blueberry gum. Dad had offered to drop the three children off but Joffrey insisted that he use his new car instead. After getting his licence, Joff couldn’t help but constantly drive around in his new jeep. It was an impressive model and very, very cool. For her brothers sake, she just hoped that he didn’t lose his temper on the road. Myrcella and Tommen politely declined their fathers invitation, instead deciding to take the school bus.

“Are you excited, Tommen?” Myrcella asked. It was only now did she realize how much her younger brother had grown over the summer. He towered a head and a half taller than her and appeared obstinate and lank. Then again, Joffrey had looked like that when he was fourteen but now he was a merited face of Kings Landing.

Tommen shrugged, scuffing the sole of his black converse shoes along the pavement. “Perros has a fever so he won’t be around today but I guess I have Cedric. I’m excited for Trigonometry.” Over the summer, he had attended an all-boys camp in Riverrun which had somewhat aided to his once simpering confidence.

Smiling, Myrcella patted his arm. “That’s great. I’m sure you’ll be fine, and you can make new friends as well!”  
There was no reply from Tommen except for a serene nod as he flagged down the bus. His meekness eroded against the dewy morning and despite herself, Myrcella found that she was frowning.

Arya Stark met her at the school gate with her long chestnut curls cropped short at her years.

It looked good, Myrcella realised. She hadn’t thought that her best friend had been serious when she had texted her over the weekend imploring on her new style. In a row with her mother, Arya had taken the kitchen scissors and had chopped of layer after layer of what was once a feathery shawl of oak. But her hair now was hardly considered downy. It stuck up at all ends in a cool and chic fashion, framing effortlessly around a heart-shaped face. Arya grinned at Myrcella with steel eyes rimmed with coal-coloured mascara and in that moment, Cella felt a pang of isolation. Even Arya was now attempting to alter her appearance in a manner for her to appear more appealing. Tugging at her sleeves, uncomfortably, Myrcella embraced her friend.

“It’s so good to see you. How was the north? I saw the pictures online, were those real wolves?”

Arya laughed gleefully, nodding. “Sure were! They were so awesome. There was one called Nymeria who wouldn’t leave my side. It sucks that we had to come back.” The Stark’s hailed from up north and visited their hometown mansion frequently. It would be nice to go on holidays often, Myrcella figured. But her dad was far too important to take off holidays and visiting her mother’s relatives at Casterly Rock was more a burden than not.

“Well I’m glad that you enjoyed your holidays. How’s it like being back to school? Joff is incredibly keen about it.” Muttered Myrcella, her green eyes flashing to where her brother was, leaning against his car and chatting up with his friends. A chill went down her spine as she remembered his words earlier in the morning.

A face of disgust blossomed upon Arya’s vixen features and she grimaced. “Sansa’s been talking about Joff all summer, it’s so bloody annoying. Honestly, it’s as if her whole mind revolves around boys and stupid fashion tips.”

Giggling, Myrcella linked arms with her friend and led her towards the main entrance of the building. Westerosi High was the greatest high school in all of Kings Landing and perhaps even in all of Westeros. Myrcella had been so close to going to Our Silent Sisters for her schooling career but managed to talk her mother out of it. She couldn’t imagine being part of an all-girls private boarding school. The idea itself made her shudder.

“I’m surprised Joff is still single. But then again I pity whoever has the displeasure in dating him.” Answered Myrcella and Arya howled with laughter at that.

“Cella, Arya!” A voice called out from somewhere in the crowd. It was Arianne Martell. The first thing Myrcella noticed about her friend was the fact that she had grown incredibly. While Arianne was still short in structure, her curves had accented over the months and had left her figure appearing alluring and voluptuous. Arianne of course had always been quite a beauty. With olive skin and russet black hair, she had inherited her mother’s complexion all while earning the grace of her father. She bounded up to the two girls, smiling enigmatically.

“Arianne! How are you? How was Starfall Beach? I bet it was great as usual.” Arya piqued and grinned devilishly as Arianne gaped at her hair.

“Arya- what did you do?”

“Oh you know, trimmed my hair a little.” The Stark girl shot back gleefully.

Arianne shook her head, bewildered. “A little? You’ve cut your beautiful hair off, you stupid girl!” She sounded more like a mother than anything. Myrcella continued to giggle behind her hand.

But before any of the girls could say any more, the school bell rang. With that came an intense stream of students making their way through the entrance. The sea carried the three sophmore’s with them and it was then did Myrcella feel as if she was really, really back in school.

The timetable in her hand read History. It had always been a soft subject for Myrcella who feverishly enjoyed filling her head with stories from the past. She allowed her eyes to flick over the grid but all of a sudden her green gaze froze. There in black and white (and grey) was a name that she had least expected. For under her teacher for History read none other than Mr. Robb Stark.

“Welcome students. My names Mr Stark and I’ll be taking Mr Pycelle’s position as history teacher this year. As you know, Mr Pycelle is ill and his health has strained his teaching. In the meantime, I will be covering all courses for this subject.” Robb Stark declared as he paced the front of the room, stopping in front of the black board to scrawl his name in bold characters with chalk.

He definitely didn’t look like Arya’s brother and surely couldn’t be old enough to teach. Mr Stark was square and tall with a robust jaw prickled with a dusting of cinnamon. His eyes were incredibly blue and Myrcella wondered how anything could be so deep yet transparent at the same time. Auburn curls grazed his forehead and covered his pale scalp. In all, Mr Stark was more Tully than ever. Him and Sansa had inherited their mothers vivacious hair and insipid blue eyes while Arya, Bran, Rickon and even Jon truly took the part of a Northern Stark. As he talked, Cella found herself thinking back to the years of her childhood.

She had only been to Winterfell Drive a handful of times to visit Arya. For some reason, the two best friends preferred to hang out in the park compared to each other’s house and even then, 43 Winterfell Drive was deliriously quiet. With Jon at Castle Black University and Theon in the Iron Islands conducting his Marine Biology course, the Stark’s had always been unreasonably nullifying (unless Arya was present, of course.) Robb too had gone to university in Twins College but Arya rarely talked about her eldest brother. She was far closer with Jon, even if he wasn’t her full family.

In the end, Arya hadn’t even said a thing about her brother teaching. And that sort of hurt.

She liked Mr Pycelle. He was quiet and dull, yes. But he was hardly senile and rather intelligent if you took the participant to strike a conversation with him. He was the only one who had presented her with a formidable grade during her freshman year and on behalf of her compassion for her teacher, Myrcella desperately wished him all the best with his failing health.

“There are few rules that I require. I want all of you to flourish under a healthy environment but everybody needs to co-operate here. When I’m speaking, I expect nobody to talk just as when one of your speaking, no one else but you will be the one talking. I’m all for debate and discussion as long as we are all open-minded and mindful of our fellow peers. No one will be racist, sexist or discriminating in any way whatsoever in my class. I don’t care if you’ve got Wilding blood in you or not, but we are all equal and honourable here. History is a subject that is unlike any other. People like me teach you history not in a way for you to remember formula after formula but instead to understand vital life lessons that are essential for your development as a young adult.” Mr Stark said in his conducting voice. Myrcella sat idly near the front of the classroom, her gaze occasionally flitting from one end of her desk to another. She had always enjoyed sharing tea with Mr Pycelle and discussing various revolutions and historical matters but since Arya’s brother was her new teacher, it would be a teensy bit weird. Myrcella let out an involuntary sigh.

The rest of the lesson was uneventful with Mr Stark mainly getting to know everyone’s name and discussing the syllabus for the year. By the end of the class, everyone was teetering on the edge of their seats.

“He’s so tank and super cute.” Myrcella heard a girl named Shae utter. Her friends nodded in agreement.

Arya and Arianne were sitting on the wall as usual talking casually while wolfing down their lunch. “Why didn’t you tell me Robb was now working here?” Myrcella questioned Arya once she reached the two within earshot. She shot her friend an accusing glare.

Arya shrugged and took a bite of her tuna sandwich. “It’s not like it’s a big deal. Robb finished his course and applied for a job since Mr Pycelle had to resign. I was shocked too, I mean he’s like only twenty-three but he’s wise beyond his years and a great leader so he was hired.”

Trying to wrack her brains, Myrcella attempted to recall the last time she had talked to Robb. It must have been seven years past now when she was at a tender age of eight. Robb would have been sixteen then. It was just a fleeting moment in the kitchen, a laugh to share over glasses of lemonade. He called her a cute child and chucked her under the chin affectionately and that was the extent of their contact until now.

Propping herself onto the wall, Myrcella unwrapped a granola bar and took a bite, thoughtfully. “I really liked Mr Pycelle… he was so nice to us. People made fun of him though because he was half death and almost blind.”

Just then, the golden crown of Joffrey Baratheon turned the corner and headed down the open lawn. There was a vast tree in the centre of the student lawn which was often where her brother hung out with his friends during lunch break when they weren’t having a smoke behind the bleachers. Myrcella wasn’t surprised to see Sansa licking his honeyed words with her cherub tongue. Arya groaned, apparently shamed by her sister.

“Gods, she is so annoying. Can she not act like a lovesick puppy? She's already in junior year. It’s embarrassing” Complained Arya from besides Cella. From the furious chomps, she figured that her friend was taking out her anger on her sandwich. Arianne sighed, all too familiar with the same conversation.

“You just hate her because she’s your sister. Trust me; I feel the same way with all of mine.” Came Arianne’s smooth voice as she dusted crumbs off her plush lips. “But you’re right, Sansa is pretty air-headed.” Added Arianne as she noticed Arya’s peeved expression.

The three girls watched as the seniors and juniors assembled onto the small plot of greenery, all of them joking and laughing. Ilyn Payne, Osmund Kettleblack, Meryn Trant, Loras Tyrell and Sandor Clegane formed Joffrey’s gang. While each were different, all teenage boys basked under the prestige of their family save Sandor. But Sandor was a peculiar guy and Myrcella feared him. He was enormous and incredibly ripped. He was on the football team as well as on the wrestling team and it was no surprise that he was also captain of several other sporting associations. The only flaw to his otherwise brutish face was the scar that ran hideously down his left eye and cheek. Ripped raw and deepy bruised, the scarring of flames had taken the charm from Sandor. Myrcella didn’t know what had happened but she knew that the accident had occurred a long time ago in his youth. It left him bitter and acrimonious and hostile.

Ilyn, Osmund, Meryn, Loras and Sandor visited during the summer often, most of them playing pool in the drawing room or dunking one another in the pool that sat just under Myrcella’s window. They were noisy, brash and downright vulgar. The majority of her summer had been wasted by their distasteful hollers and conversations that not even her radio could deafen.

Jeyne Poole sat on Sansa’s right, laughing at something Loras had said. His sister, Margaery Tyrell was deep in conversation with Roslin Frey and Alysanne Bulwer. Alyce Graceford was engrossed with an essay which was being mentored by Meredyth Crane who at the same time, was attempting to juggle the advancements of Meryn. Watching the older students felt odd for Myrcella. One day, that would be her sitting under the stern birch tree, slumped on the grass with her friends.

And for the umpteenth time that day, Myrcella cursed herself profusely for thinking with such paranoia.

* * *

Gendry Waters was a senior just like Joffrey but unlike Joffrey, he was both hard-working and spirited. But Gendry was stubborn, even more so than Arya and that right there was a problem.

She wanted the both of them to shut up but neither would as they bickered all the way down Winterfell drive, arguing from one thing to another. Gendry had run into Arya last year at Flea Bottom for whatever reason (Myrcella didn’t really want to know why Arya was at Flea Bottom for that matter) and in turn, the dark-haired bull had saved her from a pack of leering men. Not that Arya couldn’t take care of herself because she could. But Gendry was just like that.

The argument behind her hardly even seemed like an argument. Gendry and Arya just enjoyed yelling at one another even if the situation was perfectly fine. Arya had invited Cella, Gendry and Arianne over to her place to study after school but something had risen for Arianne, forcing her to allow the offer to slide. The thing about having so many sisters was that it often robbed you of your time. For that, Myrcella was exceptionally glad that she only had two brothers who hardly enjoyed her languid company.

“See, Myrcella! Do you think that the White Walkers will win or the Faceless Men?” They were talking about some band competition. Myrcella wasn’t into that alternative rock junk that Gendry and Arya fawned over. She hadn’t even heard of the White Walkers until now.

Myrcella shook her head, perplexed. “I’m not sure, sorry.” Arya sighed at her friends insolence to music and went right back to jabbing insults at Gendry.

By the time the three of them pulled up to Arya’s place, it was four thirty. Catelyn Stark greeted her daughter and friends at the front door, wearing a gown of marvellous navy embodied with deep crimson floral patterns. Her father, Hoster Tully, was head of the Tully Scientific Unit of Research which had something to do with the environment, or so Arya said.

“Myrcella, Gendry. It’s so lovely to see you.” Mrs Stark gushed, extending her arms out to embrace Myrcella.

“Likewise, Catelyn.” Both Gendry and her said in perfect unison, earning a snort from Arya. While it was common to find Myrcella acting polite, both girls knew that Gendry for whatever reason, always tried his best to please Mrs Stark.

Arya shoved past her mother who attempted to peck her on the cheek, roughly barging into the grand foyer and dumping her school bag on the marble floor. The Stark’s house was very big and very grand. Silver and white furniture littered the corridor and a crystal chandelier hung overhead, the light bouncing off the walls to present opulent spectrums upon the white-washed walls. Wood the colour of char lined the doors and windows, contrasting greatly against the gilt silvers of the antique vases and ornaments that decorated the various tabletops. It was odd- both her father and Mr Ned Stark favoured the colour black but while Robert opted for gold, Ned preferred silver.  
Arya stormed impatiently up the stairs. “If you two don’t hurry up we’ll never get any studying done.” She shot at her friends who awkwardly stumbled up after her. Despite Arya being incredibly cranky, she cared deeply for certain subjects at school, even if she didn’t like to show it.

“She’s like a bitchy little seventy year old.” Gendry breathed from Myrcella who in turn, fell apart clutching her sides.

Catelyn Stark had invited them for dinner that night.

While Gendry had to rebut the offer and return back to his home at Flea Bottom to help with his uncles garage, Myrcella was more than delighted to spend time with the Stark’s. Ned Stark was her father’s best mate and closer to him than uncle Stannis and uncle Renly combined. With a delightful meal of Caesar salad and potato pie, Myrcella sat between Arya and Sansa, polishing off a slice of lemon cake enthusiastically. Rickon and Bran sat opposite her with the parents on either end of the table. Three seats were vacant, each belonging to Theon, Jon and Robb respectfully. Myrcella momentarily wondered whether Robb lived away from his family or not.  
Just then, an engine roared up the driveway, spluttering robustly before dousing itself into silence. Headlights loomed against the lace curtains and Catelyn looked up. “Oh, that must be Robb. He had some training to attend to so he couldn’t make dinner but I’m sure he’ll be hungry for some dessert.”

The front door clicked open and Myrcella could hear nothing but the dense padding of expensive Italian leather shoes against linear marble. A clink of keys, an inward cough- those were the inevitable habits of Robb that Myrcella picked up then and there. Finally after several more pregnant pauses of spooning lemon cake into her mouth, Robb strode in.

He was wearing the same shirt and tie from their earlier lesson but his hair was wilder than usual and there was a certain aspect of defeat to him. But at the sight of his family, those damned Tully eyes illuminated like never before as he surveyed each of his kin. Then, his gaze rested upon Myrcella.

“Ah, Ms Baratheon. I trust that you’re settling well into your second year?” Robb asked politely, taking a seat next to Rickon. Compared to the amorphous memories of a teenage Robb, it was agreeable to say that a lot had changed. For one, this man’s expression and action of speech was far more polished than once before. Robb Stark had never been a level-headed man and his potty mouth was presumably how Arya had gotten so vulgar over the years. But now there was a clipped professionalism in his voice, a smooth and sensual maturity that was both inquisitive and understanding. To her bewilderment, Myrcella found herself studying her dessert plate all too intensely.

“My first day has been well, thank you.” She coughed up, feeling the formalities clamour at her throat. She glanced sideways at Arya who appeared to be just as uncomfortable. Thankfully on Arya’s behalf, she had never had a taste for History.

A gregarious smile etched itself upon Robb’s square jaw and he nodded, reaching over for the wine bottle and pouring himself a glass. “I look forward to teaching you. Mr Pycelle tells me that you are an avid learner. He says that you were his favourite student.”

Bowing her head awkwardly, Myrcella attempted to smile in favour to his compliment but it ended up coming up as more a grimace than anything. “Thanks Mr Stark.”  
“Robb, please call me Robb.”

Catelyn Stark laughed nervously. “Is that allowed, Mr Stark? You are a member of Westerosi High’s faculty.”

Robb frowned and Cella could feel Arya roll her eyes tentatively. “I guess you’re right, mother. But it’s not as if Myrcella and I are strangers. I used to babysit you, remember?”

A blush crept upon her fair features. She remembered perfectly well. In fact at only five years of age, she had somehow managed to puke all over Robb’s hair. The memory was still fresh in her mind and apparently, it was also on Robb’s thoughts for he shot her a knowing smile.

“Outside of school then. I insist. And that goes to the same as you guys, obviously.” With his fork, Robb directed the tip of the cutlery at his younger sisters. Sansa did not even bother to smile. In fact, she was texting under the table.

And it was the text message which suddenly appeared on the screen which changed dinners mood for the worst.

Idly, Sansa pressed on the button to open the message, scanning the SMS. In an instant, her pretty blue eyes bulged out of her creamy face, her thin lips rounded in a perfect ‘O’. She stared at her mobile phone, shell-shocked.

“What is it, Sansa?” Arya pestered from besides Myrcella.

“The Targaryen’s. They’re back.”

Daenarys and Visarys Targaryen had left long ago to live in Pentos with a distant relative. After the death of their father, mother, brother and sister-in-law many years back (Myrcella hadn’t even been born at that time), the two fair-haired children had fled in fear of their own lives. The Targaryen’s were old blood, having produced mayor after mayor for Kings Landing for over a span of 300 years. Their dynasty was epic and once the Targaryen’s had been some of the most influential politicians of their time. Brilliant and quick-witted, while the Baratheon’s opted for determination to aspire and the Lannister’s their gold, the Targaryen’s ambition was sorely driven on their eradicate thinking. But tragedy had struck Aerys Targaryen and his wife, Rhaella. Their oldest son, Rhaegar had always been a reckless youth, as it was said. And if there was anything that he couldn’t control, it was his desires.

Mightily ambitious, he had fallen for Lyanna Stark, Arya’s auntie many years back. Blood was shed between both families, including Myrcella’s own family. Her father had been the boyfriend of Lyanna Stark and loved her dearly. For her to run away with Rhaegar Targaryen had hurt him and his best friend, Ned. Badly.  
And if that was not enough, Aerys was disgusted with his eldest son’s conquest for some savage Stark girl and in a mad rage, had shot them both in the head. It was known that Aerys Targaryen had been mad to the core. And it was only after he had shot his own son in fury did his insanity take its toll. By the time the cops had turned up at Dragonstone Mansion, he had already taken the life of his wife. Elia Martell, Arianne’s aunt had overdosed upon hearing of her lovers betrayal and death. With her health already especially poor, she died within the night.

Aerys was the last to die. Horror-struck by what he had done, his mind rotten with the images of his wife and son dead in his hands, he shot himself by slotting the pistol into his mouth. And that had been the end of the Targaryen reign.

Myrcella had been told that the youngest Targaryen’s had been no more than babies when the massacre happened. Sent to a private lodging in Pentos across the sea, their existence eventually ebbed into a ghostly memory. Until now.

The dinner table was quiet. The situation between Rhaegar and Lyanna had occurred many years ago and the realm had lapsed into a time of peace. Visarys would not be a young boy anymore. He would be eighteen. A tremble erupted down Myrcella’s spine. What he wanted her father’s at City Hall?

"What do you mean they're back?" Bran urged.

Arya Stark gaped at her sister before elbowing Myrcella out of the way and attempting to snatch the cell phone off Sansa. “No way, Let me see that!” She demanded, climbing on top of Myrcella to grab onto her sister.

“Arya, sit down.” Barked Ned from his seat. His eyes were undistinguished and difficult to read. The Targaryens had murdered his sister. But the Targaryens had also murdered themselves.

Scowling, Arya reached for her own phone from her pocket, punching into it desperately. All of a sudden, the dining room had dissolved into a thick soup. Myrcella chewed at her lip.

“Daenarys Targaryen and Viserys Targaryen have enrolled into our school. Shut up, shutup!” Exclaimed Arya. She shoved her phone under Myrcella’s nose. Arianne had filled them out on the details, her typing rushed and slurred. This was big news.

“No phones at the dinner table.” Mrs Stark snapped at the girls who sullenly slunk their devices back into their pockets. “And you are not to treat them unkindly. Those poor souls, tainted by their fathers madness. I will not have my children treating others grotesquely. Do I make myself clear?”

The icy glare of her mother’s eyes drove Arya into rare submission. Both her and Sansa nodded.

The boys were the only ones who appeared unfazed and Robb coughed awkwardly to ease the tension of the room.

“So… I have papers to mark. Thanks for the cake, mother. It’s lovely to see you again, Cella.” Scraping his chair back and nodding wanly at his family, Robb took his departure. His leave left the dining room chilly to the bone and silence once again, took over.

By the time Myrcella had arrived home, her father and mother were arguing. They were behind their bedroom door which remained securely locked but unable to mute the screams and shouts from within. Her father was drunk, she could tell by the half empty Scotch bottle. So was her mother for here was wine upon the carpet. She didn’t want to go upstairs for their yelling deceived any vain attempts of a quiet night. Instead, Myrcella walked into the living room, sighing to herself.

Tommen was watching television, his eyes determinately staring at the screen. It was a Trivia show. Tommen liked those because he could answer almost every question and the ones he didn’t know, he was fabulous at guessing. Taking a seat next to him, Myrcella placed a tentative arm around her younger brother.  
“When did they start?” She muttered to him, painfully aware of the muffled screaming from her parents room.

Tommen didn’t remove his eyes from the screen but she could tell that he had been crying. His cheeks always puffed when he cried. “About dinner time. It’s about the Targaryens, isn’t it?”

Slowly nodding, Myrcella gently tugged her brother closer, eloping him into a warm hug. He sniffled against her shoulder. Despite being fourteen, Tommen was as sensitive as a foal. “Dads just upset. You know how much he liked Lyanna Stark.”

It was the first time Myrcella had said the name and it felt so foreign upon her lips. If there was any word forbidden in their household, it was her name.  
Tommen detached himself from his sister, staring at her with wide sea-green eyes. “Will mum and dad get a divorce?”

“No, they love each other. They always fight but that doesn’t mean that they don’t love each other.” Her voice hardly sounded convincing. “They’re just drunk.” She tried to add, as if that made the situation any less horrible.

And then it came- the inhale of flesh against flesh, the sting of shame as Robert Baratheon struck his wife. It was followed by silence and then slowly, the bedroom door opened. Myrcella heard her mother descend the stairs before grabbing her keys and opening the door. Her BMW roared to life and Cersei Lannister drove away.

“She’s just gone to see Uncle Jaimie. She’ll come back in the morning.”

And the saddest thing was that Myrcella was used to telling her younger brother such information.

By morning Cersei Baratheon nee’ Lannister was still absent. Their father had left early, probably too embarrassed to face his children. This hadn’t been the first time and Myrcella often found that it was the morning after which was most difficult to stomach. The blonde padded downstairs to the kitchen, coiling her fluffy hair into a reedy plait. Joffrey had already woken and sat at the counter, moodily browsing through the newspaper. He was closest to mother and his temper rose terribly whenever she was upset. Myrcella knew better than to tempt his fury.

Sliding into an empty stool by the counter, she reached for a slice of bread and ate it plain, tugging at the soft tissue of the slice into downy morsels.

"When does mum come back?" She questioned her brother after a moments silence.

Joff turned to look at her, venom heavy in his eyes. Mentally, Myrcella drew back, fearful of her brothers temper.

"How would I know."

"Can you drop Tommen and I to school?" She knew that she was pushing it but dad had promised to drop them today the bus had already left.

Joffrey sneered but said nothing. She tried again, persistent for Tommen's sake.

"Please? Just this once."

"Why should I, Myrcella?" Joff tested back.

Biting her lip, she reported back to Joffrey with a meek voice. "Because you're our brother and it's just today." Myrcella trailed off, suddenly finding her breakfast incredibly interesting. "And because I owe you. You always think of something in the end."

This seemed to please Joff and he nodded curtly before grabbing his keys on the lacquer black countertop. He got up, retrieving a stick of gum from his faded jeans which were most probably designer. "Well hurry the fuck up, then. I'll give you and Tom two minutes exactly to get ready and I'll meet you outside."

Uttering her thanks to her brother who enjoyed swearing profusely when not other an adults supervision, Myrcella quickly skidded down the hallway to where her bag lay. "Tommen, we're leaving in a minute. Seriously, one minute!" Her calls drifted up the stairs and a blonde bob poked out the door as the youngest Baratheon sleepily regarded his sister downstairs with a nod.

The horn of Joffrey's car honked, startling Myrcella. "Tommen I mean it! Now!" While she was hardly vicious, Myrcella could be incredibly stern.

Nobody made Joffrey Baratheon wait, Myrcella knew that much.

They picked up Sandor Clegane and Meryn Trent on the way to school. As soon as Meryn entered the car, the topic of the Targaryen's entered. Myrcella was squished in the middle between Meryn and Tommen, awkwardly attempting to make herself as small as possible. The lesser contact she had with the sly redhead, the better.

"They say that one of them is madder than his dad." Meryn said conversationally, his hand resting awfully close to Myrcella's thigh.

Joffrey scoffed from the drivers seat, rap music blaring from the stereo. "I don't give a fuck about these Targaryens, as long as they don't get in my day."

Sandor of course, said nothing and instead continued to brood moodily out the window.

"They haven't come to Kings Landing in sixteen years, not since the massacre. Y'know they're living in Dragonstone Mansion? That's just fucking messed up, their family died in there. " Meryn exclaimed, obviously as intrigued by the subject that had upset her parents.

"Just because you hear something doesn't mean it's true, you dumbass." Sandor hollered from the front seat, his voice gruff.

"Oi, watch your fucking language." Meryn bitched from Myrcella's right. "And besides, I saw them. Blonde as a beach, they were. The girls really hot."

Joffrey scoffed. "You think anything that has a vagina is hot." That made Tommen snicker besides Myrcella and she shot him a pointed look. She didn't want him to pick up on Joffrey's vile language.

"Not true." Meryn bit back, his auburn brow creasing. "Just those with nice tits."

Thankfully, before anything else of the matter could arise, Joffrey pulled into the school parking lot. Myrcella breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure how long she could hang around her brother and his disgusting friends. As soon as Joffrey parked his car, Myrcella looked at Meryn expectedly, waiting for him to get out. He noticed this and smirked smugly.

"My company annoys you, Myrcella? Come on now, you have to admit, you love talking to me." He leered, leaning in closer to her. Sandor, Joff and Tommen had already gotten out of the car.

"Please, Meryn. I need to get to class." She muttered, averting her gaze from his. Seniors now crowded around Joffrey as he arrived and she noticed Sansa making her way over. That meant Arya was here, thank God.

A knock on the glass pane interrupted the two and Meryn glanced up, only to find Sandor glaring at the pair. "Get out already." He barked, rapping at the window again.

Meryn smirked again, slowly opening the door. Thankfully, he said nothing more to her.

Myrcella found Arya and Arianne by their lockers, talking in a hushed whisper. Arianne noticed her right away and waved as a greeting. "They walked in this morning."

"Who?" Myrcella asked but she had a feeling that she already knew.

Arya let out a groan. "Viserys and Daenarys Targaryen, duh. He's a senior and she's a junior. I hope Joffrey doesn't break his nose on the first day."

Thinking back to the conversation in the car, Myrcella shook her head. "I don't know, as long as he doesn't bother Joff I think he'll be fine."

In all, Myrcella wondered how Arya and Arianne felt about it. Both their aunts suffered the consequences of the Targaryens decision. Aerys had murdered Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar's decision took Elia Martell's life. She was starting to understand the phrase 'never play with fire.'

"What do you have this morning?" She asked her friends, attempting to swerve the conversation.

Arianne closed her locker, cradling her books in her arm. "Physics then Drama. I've got choir during lunch so I'll see you in Literature, yeah?"

"Biology then Health." Responded Arya, also closing her locker. Myrcella had to admit, she looked very savvy with her new hair.

"I have a double history again, with your brother."

"Is he a good teacher? He's like, the youngest teacher in this whole school!" Arianne exclaimed, looking at Myrcella with her dewy eyes.

She shrugged, moving to her locker besides Arianne's and working the code. After swinging it open, Myrcella dumped her belongings inside, reaching for her exercise book and pencil case. "He doesn't like making us read, he likes to teach us through talking. Our whole class is like a debate rally."

Arya scoffed. "Huh, sounds better than any of my classes."

When the bell rang, the three girls bid their farewells. Arya and Arianne had their classes in the science department which left Myrcella heading to her own classroom on the third floor. Just as she turned a corner, she felt herself walk into something incredibly solid. Myrcella stumbled, desperately attempting to regain her stance. Books tumbled to the ground, splaying all over the floor. Heads turned at the commotion but Myrcella cared little for spectators. Flustered and rosy-cheeked, she looked up at her culprit. It wasn't often that one came across lilac eyes. But Viserys Targaryen First of His Name did not look like an amused lad.


	2. Heads Will Roll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And chapter two! I apologize in advance if the writing is a bit lengthy or tedious, I just really want to establish the characters and settings before really delving into any plot. This will be quite a long fanfiction so I'm not going to rush into things headfirst. Instead, I'd rather elaborate and dig deep with characterization and relationships before really going into anything. Thanks for reading x

Viserys Targaryen did  _not_ look amused.

 

He glared at the petite youth before him, her dewy green eyes round melons. His own eyes bore into her- a biting lilac that glinted like amethysts under the flourescent light. They held little warmth. The senior was almost a foot taller than the small blonde before him but while he was tall, he was hardly built for of bulk. Instead, Viserys was lean, his body condensed into tight muscle. Of course immediately after arriving at Westerosi High, he had been bombared with pugnant looks from boys twice his size. One of them had a distasteful scar down his left cheek. It was repulsive. 

 

The girl before him appeared to be someone who you could stomp on easily, only if you wanted to of course. She had a round face, skin that was far too transluscent to be real and a mass of tousled blonde hair that sorely reminded Visery's of wheat germ. She also had that unnerving curiousity to her, that bothersome gaze that just screamed immaculateness. But she also looked scared. 

 

In an instant, he realized that he knew her. Her photograph was not a foreign face to the press. The mayors daughter, she was. Her name was Myrcella, Myrcella Baratheon.

 

Gods, that name just made him want to barf. 

 

Myrcella stood there, stuck like a deer in a headlight. She hugged her books to her chest in fear of the living legend before her. 

 

"I'd watch where you're going if I were you, Baratheon." Visarys hissed, nudging past her forecfully. 

"And I'd watch your fucking mouth. Don't talk to my sister that way."

 

In a haze of crimson and gold, Joffrey Baratheon stepped between the two, intervening their confrontation. His jape at Viserys caused the platinum boy to glower, velvety purple eyes festering acidly upon the football player.

 

For a second Visarys said nothing, his expression hinting that he was more surprised and perplexed than frustrated with Joffrey's imposing tone.

 

"I'm not going to bother wasting my breath."

 

Without another word, Viserys made a beeline past Myrcella and the fuming Joffrey. She was touched in a way, to think that her brother had come to her rescue. But he was probably more intent on securing his domination at the school in front of Viserys instead of stressing over her wellbeing. Of course, Myrcella hadn't expected anything less from her older brother. And while he was not a complete sinner, Joffrey was no saint either. However, that did not stop Myrcella from leveling her celery-coloured eyes to meet his. "I could have handed it myself, Joff." The sophmore bit at her brother, irritation infecting her serious expression.

 

"Please, Myrcella. You can't even stand up to dad when he's fucking around with his booze." The taller of the two blondes said, pointing out quite the obvious. During Robert's brazen rampages, it took several hasty calls to Uncle Stannis and Uncle Renly to calm their brother down. Even then, Cersei hardly allowed her or her children to stoop so low and plead to outside family for help. If anything, to be a Lannister was to be a lion. You had to be the leader of the pact and weakness was forbidden.

 

"You can't either." Myrcella hissed back. In an instant, Joffrey had her by her collar, his grip intensely robust and his eyes blazing. It seemed that while Myrcella and Tommen had inherited the serene traits of their respected families, Joffrey had dove right into the gene pool to pick out a Baratheon rage and a Lannister's arrogance. Both hand in hand, could slaughter.

 

"Do not mock me, Myrcella." Joffrey warned, threateningly. He knew that Myrcella was not exceptionally strong and being a member of the football team heightened the invalidity of fairness. "You would be wise to hold your fucking tongue or I'll get the hound to straighten you out." And the scariest thing was that Joffrey probably _would_ send his dog after his own sister. He was ruthless that way and had no patience for cordial kindness. Not even to his sister. 

 

"I would suggest you keep your sibling rivalries at home, Mr Baratheon."

 

Startled by the sudden interruption, Joffrey unleashed his clasp on Myrcella, scowling acidly at the intruder. But before he could say anything more to support his case, Robb Stark had already lifted a finger. "Not another word or I'm afraid I'll have to drop a message to your father about your behaviour." He tutted at the fuming senior, wagging his index finger into Joffrey's face and addressing him as if he were but a child. "Now get to class."

 

No one had ever stood up against Joffrey, not even a teacher. But Robb Stark's superioty and his higher status in the schools hierarchy proved Joffrey as the ultimate culprit. His adams apple bobbed indignantly and for a moment, it appeared that he was going to say something (or yell, rather) but at the last second, the student seemed to gain his senses back. Silently glowering at the tall auburn before him, Joffrey dropped his gaze in defeat before slouching away. Out of the corner of her eye, Myrcella watched him join Meryn Trant by his lockers and the two slunk off to class. Myrcella shuddered, recalling her run in with Meryn earlier that morning. 

 

"Are you alright, Myrcella?"

 

She had almost forgotten that he was right in front of her, let alone intervene what could have been some intense shit on behalf of her lovely older brother. For a moment, Myrcella found herself bitterly jealous of Arya. Her best friend had the support of not only two younger brothers and an older brother but also a foster sibling and a step-sibling. She even had Sansa who while annoying at best, couldn't be all that horrible. Wondering what her life would have been like with Robb as her mentor and older sibling, Myrcella lowered her gaze. All of a sudden, the linoleum seemed to be rather fascinating.

 

"I"m fine, I'm used to it anyway." She found herself laughing nervously. Robb's eyebrow raised in what she took for concern and inwardly, Myrcella slapped herself. Now he'd think that all Joffrey did was abuse her (which wasn't even a lie) but the last thing she wanted was any imposing remarks. "I'm sure Arya sends you death threats often." It was meant to sound like reassurance, except it didn't. Again, Myrcella mentally slapped herself.

 

Robb looked at her for a long time, his sapphire blue eyes boring into Myrcella's own peridots. She could sense apprehension just as she could sense sadness. And she hated that.

 

Because nobody wanted to be pitied and in the end, Myrcella would always be part lioness.

 

"If he does anything to you again, don't hesitate to tell me, alright?" And in that moment, Robb Stark did not sound like a doubtful teacher but instead his valence shone and his voice hinted a deeper understanding to everything. He was a family friend and not even a title such as 'Mr Stark' could change that.

 

"I will, don't worry." Myrcella assured. While her voice did not sound terribly convincing, it was not at all far from the truth.

 

"I've known Joffrey since he was born."

 

"And I've known you since I was born."

 

Robb frowned. "It's just... no, never mind. I'll see you in class, Myrcella." Hastily, he pushed past her, muttering something incoherent from under his breath.

* * *

The crisp temperature of September had started to decline, Myrcella realized. She sat on the bleachers alone, her thin cardigan surrounding her narrow shoulders as she waited watched football practice. Joffrey had training today and having to stay back to talk to Mr Varys about some homework, Myrcella had just so accordingly missed the school bus. It was just her luck, in honestly. Despite her pleas to Arya and Arianne to keep her company, her two friends had neatly stepped past the dilemma. Arya had archery lessons and Arianne was in charge of babysitting her sisters for the evening. It had left Myrcella bitter and lonely, a vacancy settling into her chipped soul. Reticence fluttered in the crooks of Myrcella's heart as she watched the burly students compose themselves on the field. Alongside her brother were his croonies- Clegane, Trant, Payne, the lot of them stood in a line while their coach roared out orders.

 

"You play like blushing maids, the lot of you! You represent the _Westerosi Knights_ , not feeble mares. _Now get a move on!_ " Coach screamed at his players. The _Westerosi Knights_ was the best team in both football, basketball, baseball and lacrose. However, the _Braavosi Titans_ weren't too far off. They were Westerosi High's number one rival.

 

Heaving a sigh, Myrcella found herself restless. She wasn't a fan of sports unlike Arya was who would always drag her to matches and games. Arianne shared Myrcella's distaste in anything physical and back at primary school where PE had been compulsory, the two would feign a sickness in hopes to be sent to the hospital wing. Of course, Arya would jest them about it once the lesson was over but at least that was better than playing volleyball.

 

Joffrey's practice went on for another twenty minutes and by the time they had finished, Myrcella had already pulled out her history textbook and was rifling through a section that focused particularly on Baelor the Blessed. Remembering things came easily to Myrcella, whether it was a date or a face or a name or a memory- information simply stored in her mind like dust in an attic. If only important things such as trigonometry identities or the parts of a mitochondria organelle could retain within her mind as easily as dates and petty trivia did, perhaps she would have been as studious as Tommen. Engrossed in her studying, she hadn't noticed the tall blonde loom over her, helmet resting under his arm and beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face. While the air was chilly, it was obvious that coach had pushed his knights to an extreme today. That meant that Joffrey wouldn't be in a viable mood for the way home.

 

"Get up, I'm dropping the Tyrell's home too." Joffrey informed his younger sister, glaring at her before turning in his place and stalking back down the bleachers. Myrcella found her rib-cage lax and she realized that she had forgotten how to breathe under her older brothers senile existence. Myrcella shook her head. Joffrey didn't scare her, she wouldn't allow that. While he was a Lannister-Baratheon, so was she.

 

Stowing her books away and slinging her school bag over her shoulder, Myrcella shivered despite the thin slip of her cardigan and slowly made her way down the steps to greet the prick of her brother. As soon as she descended, the lissome figure of Margaery Tyrell. While Myrcella stood at a stocky five foot four, Margaery danced three inches higher. Graceful, beautiful and blessed with both bosom and brains, the junior was good friends to Sansa. All the Tyrell's were gifted, bestowed with both attractive features and envious characteristics. While Margaery was compassionate, her brother, Loras was charismatic just as her other brother, Willas, was clever. Margaery smiled kindly at the younger student.

 

"Myrcella, it's _so_ nice of your brother to drop us off. You're so lucky to have such a valiant sibling. I doubt Willas and Loras would ever be as chivalrous put together." Even Margaery's voice was perfect for it tinkled merrily in the September gales. If Arya had been present, the spiky haired lass would have probably gagged.

 

"Hi Margaery. Um yeah I guess." Voice trailing, Myrcella studied the soles of her navy canvas shoes. The Tyrell's intimidated her to extremes. Her mother had told her to never trust a Tyrell, or anyone not a Lannister for that matter. Perhaps Cersei's absolute lack in faith to anyone but her own kind was one of the underlying factors to her crumbling marriage. Her mother had often preached that The Tyrell's were ambitious and cunning and all of them either sported poison in their petals or thorns at their stem. The Tyrell family owned an incredible farm just outside Kings Landing which acted as both an orchard, a crop farm and a flower farm. The Tyrell's played an extensive role in the towns agriculture. And while flowers were meant to be pretty, who knew what pesticide had been sprayed to keep the crop growing strong.

 

To think that a pretty little flower to create such wariness in a lion was almost laughable.

 

"Marg, you ready to go?" Called out a voice and Myrcella craned her neck, noticing Loras. He had just taken a shower and was donning light faded jeans and a light green shirt. As prominent as the Tyrell family were, rumours did grow among the flowers- weedy entrails and vines that suffocated the pretty sculptures that the garden consisted of. Spiders roamed everywhere, climbing down corners and sticking to walls and despite Loras's best intentions to succumb the taunts and skeptical stories, there was no denying that there was something certainly... _fruity_ about him.

 

"Come on, we don't want to let the boys wait." Margaery said, taking Myrcella's arm and intertwining it with her own as if they were sisters. "Calm down, Loras! The world isn't going to end!" She then called out in response to her brothers hollering demand, giggling and resolving a wink towards Myrcella's direction. The blonde smiled uneasily.

 

Willas and Joffrey were accompanying Loras as Margaery and Myrcella joined them. She recalled that Willas had band practice and figured that Margaery had wanted to stay behind with her brothers to do some community service project or something equally charming. The two Tyrell brothers bid their sister with their smile and then turned to look at Myrcella. While Willas seemed ungainly and awkward, Loras was copiously warm and grinned at the young blonde. "S'up, Myrcella? Was practice boring? Sorry that you had to watch. You should have hung around Margaery, she was tutoring the freshmen with their French." Loras explained, beaming handsomely. Of course Margaery would have, considering how grand she was. The more she spent around the brunette, the more she could empathize for Joffrey's slight crush on her.

 

"It was okay, I couldn't really tell what was going on though since I was doing my homework."

 

"Enough with the fucking small talk, let's _go_ " Came the rude urges from Joffrey. He had also showered, golden hair falling in tousled sheets around his head. Grabbing his keys from his pockets, he took Margaery's hand and stalked on ahead. Willas frowned and shot Loras a cautious look. In return, Joffrey's friend just shrugged.

 

The ride home was awkward. If the Gods had been kinder, they would have never placed a Lannister and a Tyrell in the same vehicle but they Gods had never been particually fair. Instead, three roses seated themselves in Joffrey's vehicle. Insisting that Margaery had to sit in the passenger seat with him, it had left Loras, Myrcella and the surly looking Willas to the back seat. For the second time that day, Myrcella found herself squished in the middle. She sighed, the Gods definitely enjoyed taunting her. "So I heard that your dads having a party-ball-event thing at city hall this friday." Loras piqued up conversationally from the left seat.

 

Joffrey glanced at him through the mirror. "Yeah, it's a formal event. Fucking stupid if you ask me."

 

"What's the occasion anyway?" Margaery curiously added.

 

A crude laugh emerged from Joffrey's smirking lips. "With my father there doesn't need to be an event. What's that saying? A little party never killed nobody or something like that. If there's a chance to spend money and get wasted, my dad will take it." Myrcella noticed that Joffrey did not mention anything about the occasional sexual innuendos on their fathers behalf. When intoxicated, Robert was hardly a faithful husband. However, Cersei did everything in her power to keep that a secret and save her honour.

 

"It'll be fun though. We can all hang out upstairs and leave the adults to their corporation event. I mean, we're all invited, right Joff?" Inquired Margaery and while her expression was docile, her voice was steely. Margaery was not a fan of inequality and hated it when Joffrey made a point to exclude their friends which he did quite often, especially with the stoic and silent Ilyn Payne. Even Alysanne Bulwer who was as pretty as a pansy and just as easy was hardly on Joffrey's good books simply because her parents were middle-class citizens.

"If everyone chips in, we can buy some booze. Our parents will be too drunk themselves to care."

 

"I like the way you think, Loras. I'll get Clegane and Osmund to buy it since they're already eighteen. It'll be easy to smuggle it in so just leave it to me. My father won't care, he never cares." At the mention of alcohol and under-aged drinking, Myrcella raised an eyebrow much to Loras's oblivion besides her. It was only Willas who noticed her alarmed expression and his green gaze locked with her own. A silent understanding passed between the two pairs of emerald orbs. He was just as nervous as she was. Conversation remained light for the rest of the journey with Loras and Joffrey making callous jokes and japes at their coach. Margaery included herself by chipping in bits of gossip and jokes that made the boys roar with laughter. How anybody could be so flawless and effortless was beyond Myrcella. How she admired Margaery Tyrell, how she envied her. Only Willas remained silent but he had always been a studious boy, finding more compassion with his violin and chemistry set than any of his siblings wellbeing. Arya had told Myrcella that during his freshman year he had sent Sansa a love-letter. Of course Sansa being Sansa, had been totally oblivious to any male except for Joffrey. The rejection had pierced through Willas' heart, leaving a gaping wound.

 

The jeep pulled up at Highgarden Road, stopping by an elaborate estate complete with the most picturesque garden that Myrcella had ever seen. A gurgling foundain constructed of marble and supporting an array of cupids mounted the crystal pool, jets of water spewing from the tips of their arrows. Rose bushes of every colours dotted the landscape and the lawn was prim and trim, the grass coloured an almost artificial green. She had always been rather jealous of the Tyrell's estate. But it was rather obvious that Myrcella was simply the jealous type. She mooned over external organizations and comparing herself to others whether it be her appearance or grades or wealth or lunch menu. It was tiresome and childish but she was only fifteen, wasn't she allowed to be selfish and vain and stupid? After the three Tyrells had left, a static silence hung over the two Baratheon children. Myrcella sat in the back seat, maneuvering herself to look outside the window. She hardly ever visited this neighbour hood and according to _The Westeros Gazette_ , both Highgarden Road and Rainbows End had magnificent scenery.

 

"Did you speak to that fucker again?"

 

Snapping out of her daze, Myrcella blinked, confused. Joffrey's penetrating stare gleamed straight back at her as he looked into the rear-view mirror.

 

"Sorry, who?"

 

"Viserys of course. Are you as dumb as you are ugly? Anyway, don't talk to him alright? I can't have my sister fraternizing with a Targaryen. Especially not some cocksucker like him." The way Joffrey said Viserys name was simply menacing. Myrcella briefly wondered what would happen lest she mention that Loras was the cocksucker around here. She knew that him and her brother had been close friends from young. While Sandor Clegane would always be Joffrey's best mate, Loras got along well with him surely enough.

 

"Why do I need to listen to you anyway?" The lioness questioned, finding her sudden jolt of bravery rather exhilarating.

 

With a sharp press on the breaks, Joffrey pulled over carelessly. The car skidded to a halt which caused Myrcella to bump her head on the roof of her car. Joffrey spun around from his seat, rage and fury incorporated upon his handsome yet cruel features.

 

"Because I'm your older brother, you little bitch and because I'm me and you're you. Don't think that just because Robb fucking Stark is around to save the day that life will get any easier for you, _Myrcella_. Because it won't and you know it. You're my sister so you belong to me, is that clear? Now don't fucking question my authority again." The older of the two was livid, his voice notched up to a defying yell. Chipped shards of jade stormily glared at Myrcella and his capricious outburst had frightened her. Silently and as if all the courage that she had managed to muster had been drained of her, Myrcella bowed her head and stared at her hands daring herself not to cry.

 

She lapsed into a defeated silence for the rest of the ride home. 

 

Pulling into the driveway, the absense of their mothers BMW and the dismissal of black porsche that belonged to their father indicated that both parents were still out. "I think mum hasn't come back since yesterday." She mused to her brother, cheek pressed against the panel of glass. Whenever upset, her mother would often take a vacation for a few days to her twins trendy apartment downtown. Uncle Jaimie was a cop yet lived the ultimate bachelor lifestyle and there had always been a spare room set up for visiting family. 

 

"Good, I was going to invite a few others over anyway."

 

"But it's a schoolnight, Joff." She pointed out incrediously. Myrcella didnt' want to have a stupid teenage house party, not at her home anyway. Instead, she had been anticipating a cherishing evening of watching some television with Tommen. It was enough having to dedicate her afternoon to watching Joffrey and his friends run around like gaggle of headless geese. 

 

The engine switched off with a rumbling groan and Joffrey unlocked the car door, swinging it open and stepping out. The slam of the front door was his answer to Myrcella'sstatement. She sighed in frustration. Why couldn't she have someone like Robb or Jon or Theon or even Renly as a brother? It riled bitterness within Myrcella that she felt shameful for posessing. Pursing her lips, Myrcella let herself out of Joffrey's car and followed him up the driveway to their brick red mansion. 

 

Tommen greeted the two as soon as they entered, cradling a ceramic bowl of his favourite oreo ice cream. "Where have you been?" He asked his older siblings but the accusation was directed at Myrcella whom he regarded with a betrayed expression. 

 

"I had to talk to Mr Varys and missed the bus. I'm sorry, Tommen. I'll text you next time." Apologized Myrcella as she gave the youngest a defeated look. Perhaps it was the gruelling attention that Tommen recieved for being the baby of the family but he was hardly independent and more so he was spoilt. Cuddly, cute, and concious, Tommen enjoyed rescuing stray cats and feeling the weight of his sunshine hair against his neck. Perhaps it was the gruelling attention that Tommen recieved for being the baby of the family but he was hardly independent and more so he was spoilt. Cuddly, cute, and conscious, Tommen enjoyed rescuing stray cats and feeling the weight of others as they mollycoddled him. But it had contextualized him to be a sweetling, soft in the head and supporting a heart carved out of stardust. Tommen continued to reveal a wounded expression as he shifted his reproving gaze from one of his siblings to another.

 

“Mum and dad aren’t home.” He responded plainly, not taking her apology. "You promised you'd help me with my Geography homework."

 

"I'm sorry! I'll make it up to you somehow, promise." Myrcella breathed with exasperation. While she dearly loved her brother, his childish antics were struggling with her patience. She had just endured two hours of sitting in the cold watching her older brother kick and throw a dumb ball around and now her younger brother was badgering her for not keeping a promise. 

 

Pouting, Tommen turned on his heel, indicating the obvious hurt that he felt from Myrcella's actions. Hardly anything went wrong around Tommen and while he was a docile creature he took unfaithfulness very personal. Joffrey whistled under his breath.

 

“Worst sister of the year goes to you, Myrcella.”

 

“Thanks, Joff.”

 

“I’m going to invite some mates over, feel free to join us in the pool if you want to.”

 

This surprised Myrcella. Never had Joffrey ever invited her to hang out with his friends, his cool senior elitist friends. She had always been the younger sister, the lesser wanted and perhaps even the lesser loved. Her whole life had been but a burden to Joffrey who would have much preferred life as an only child and to have him to compromise her existence around his friends was definitely alarming.

 

Hesitant, Myrcella shifted her gaze to Joffrey. “There won’t be alcohol, will there?”

 

Laughing taciturnly, Joffrey dumped his sports bag onto the floor and kicked off his shoes. “Tell that to yourself if it makes you feel better. No of course there will be. Half of us are already eighteen, Myrcella. It isn’t illegal and plus dad and mum won’t even notice.” This was true, the liquor cabinet was larger than Cersei’s walk in wardrobe.

 

Meryn, Osmund, Sandor, Sansa and Jeyne Poole strolled through the French doors one hour later. The clock had just rested upon the 7th hour but by the 8th, house music blared through the stereo. If only walls were not paper thin. Myrcella tossed on her bed, burying her nose into her pillow in a feeble attempt to dim the noise. Her laptop lay discarded on her duvet, an essay for Mr Stark half complete and flashing on the screen. Attempting to complete her latest piece of homework, Myrcella had locked herself in her room before any of Joffrey's guests could have arrived but the walls barricading her from the rest of the house did little justice. They were loud, really loud; hollering and swearing and screaming into the night. Some dumb house music blared from Joffrey's rooms and through the walls she could hear the grunting laughs of Osmund and Meryn as Joffrey cracked a joke. The high-pitched giggle of Sansa and Jeyne followed suit which proved Arya's hypothesis that Sansa was part hyena. Grunting with irritation as Myrcella shifted her weight to her elbows, she lay on her bed with her legs sprawled behind her, aimlessly kicking. Sleep hopefully, would concur. 

 

(And luckily for Myrcella, she was a heavy sleeper. )

 

 

* * *

 

 

As she rose the next morning, there was no denying the grotesque stench of sour liquor that hung in the musky air. Hand on her head, Myrcella heaved herself up from her bed groggily, head drumming. She heard voices, furious voices but voices all the same and this time she sat up fully, swinging her legs off the bed and landing her bare feet upon the downy carpet. Rubbing at her forehead and threading a hand through her mass of hay-coloured curls, she wondered who would be making such a ruckus at such an hour.

 

"Joffrey Marcus Baratheon, if you  _ever_  steal from my alcohol cabinet again I swear to god, boy, it'll be the end of you!" Roared Robert Baratheon from downstairs. Padding to her door, Myrcella pushed it softly so that she would not disturb the row, fingers splayed on the spine of the door as  she peeked onto the landing. Her father was back, beard unshaven but back nonetheless. Her mother too. Cersei was leaning against the stairs bannister, crimson nails digging into the cherry wood as she surveyed her husband and son, saying nothing. Myrcella's eyes landed onto Joffrey: shirtless and royally pissed off his high horse, arms crossed over his broad pectorals and breath still betraying his esplanade last night. 

 

"I leave for two ruddy days and you've already gone through my best Scotch not to mention your mothers vintage red wine." Robert continued to accuse, jabbing a sausage-like finger at his eldest child who continued to scowl. He was never a pleasant person during the mornings but neither was Robert. One had to be unwise to pick an argument with either of them before the clock rang noon.

 

“I’m going to be late for school.” Joffrey spat acidly, turning his back on his father and slamming the door with a swift kick of his foot. Robert’s temple throbbed a rather alarming shade of plum and Myrcella could almost swear that she saw a vein pop under the intense rage of the Baratheon. Cersei was up in an instant, a slender hand settling on her husband’s arm which shook horrendously under his rage. Her father’s temper was lewd and bawdy, much like Joffrey’s but on a grander scale.

 

“Leave it, Robert. You’ll be lake for work.” Cersei said in a calm and collected down, smirking to herself as she watched her husbands shoulders sink in defeat. He was little against the iceberg that was his wife.

 

“I’ll give that boy a beating the next time he ever does that again.”

 

“I know. You’ll be late. You have a meeting.”

 

Robert nodded firmly, inhaling deeply before retreating downstairs. At his departure, Cersei turned sharply on her heel, emerald eyes flashing as they settled upon Myrcella who jumped at her mother’s glower. “Get ready, Myrcella. You know I do not tolerate sloppiness.”

 

But Cersei Baratheon nee’ Lannister hardly tolerated anything let alone her daughter. Myrcella sighed at this and closed the door. She fell back onto her bed in a heap, wondering whether she could count the days until she finally turned eighteen.

 

Soon, Myrcella thought. Soon.

 


End file.
